


White Knight Syndrome

by fictive_frolic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Past Abuse Mentioned, Protective Bucky Barnes, Soft Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-11-26 20:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: When some hippie moves in next door, Bucky is less than impressed. Atleast until her ex-husband shows up and Bucky realizes there's more to her than patchouli and crystals.





	1. Chapter 1

In the cool fall morning, Bucky Barnes woke to two things. A splitting headache and the cacophony of move-in day. He gave up on sleep when the clatter of feet on a metal ramp echoed in his head. “Fucking fuck.” he groused through the haze of the hangover. In his head, he cursed Sam up one side and down the other. Him and that fucking mason jar of Moonshine he had brought back from his last trip to Virginia. He couldn’t think of anything other than coffee. 

So that’s what he did. He made coffee and watched the show across the street. Big burly movers hefting boxes and a girl in the middle of it all directing traffic and keeping it all organized. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing jeans and a men’s flannel over a t-shirt. She’s cute. Petite. Even from across the street she looks like a hippie. She just has an air that says “I shop at farmers markets and burn incense.” He snorts to himself and takes a sip of coffee. He half wonders if your coffee table is made of crystals. Just a giant slab of quartz. 

The coffee starts to kick in and he supposes he should go be neighborly. Introduce himself. But a knock on the door keeps him from examining that thought further. The knock is perfunctory. More the last vestige of a formality than a knock and is followed by Sam and Steve half stumbling through his door. 

The blonde muscular asshole he’d known since they were kids on the same block. Steve hadn’t always been built like a brick shit house. He’d been a sickly little kid with asthma and a big mouth. It had taken joining the track team and then the Army to bulk him up like that. Steve might be able to take care of himself now but in the back of Bucky’s mind, he was still a scrawny little punk. The other asshole, the African American man with a cocky smile and an eye for a girl with black and grey tats was Sam. He’d been friends with Steve and Bucky since they all met at a support group for vets. That had been the origin of their little motorcycle shop. Working on Customs and doing charity rides for whatever legitimate cause they got hit up for. 

“Hey,” he said over his coffee cup. Steve and Sam both had hangovers of their own to nurse. There wasn’t much more than grunts and nods as they helped themselves to coffee and raised the fridge for breakfast before they got to work on the new bike they were about to have to ship out. 

Coffee and breakfast in their stomachs, the other two men were eager to get to work. It was Afternoon and the chaos across the street was a dull roar now that the moving van had left. A van pulled in behind the little Jeep in the drive and a woman and her kids got out. You were greeted with hugs and giggles as you swung kids up off their feet one at a time. It was a good time, looks like. 90′s alternative music played, bumping through speakers and on towards evening, pizza was ordered. The men worked on the bike, mostly ignoring the chaos across the street but, Bucky was a little glad to know you weren’t on your own. This wasn’t a rough neighborhood or anything but moving sucked. A lot. Even with Sam and Steve it had been a fucking miserable experience. 

As the sunset and the guys celebrated another job done with a round of beers, you helped your unpacking party into the van with leftover pizza and hugs. You wave them off and blow kisses, waiting until the van has rounded the corner before turning and walking up the steps rubbing the back of your neck. Steve jerks his head your direction and smirks, “She’s cute, Buck. You gonna go say hi?” Bucky snorted, “Nah,” he said, “Not really into crystals and patchouli.” Sam rolled his eyes, “Mother fucker,” he said, “You’re not exactly drowning in pussy over here. Pretty sure Barton gets more ass than you do and he’s married with four kids. Shit. Natasha gets more pussy than you.” Bucky opened another beer and laughed, “Nat gets more girls than all of us combined. Don’t use that as a metric. Even girls can’t turn down a redhead. Even girls that don’t like girls.” Steve smirked, “He’s got a point, Sam.” 

Sam rolled his eyes but let the matter drop. Bucky was grateful. The two of them meant well. Blind dates, Tinder, getting Natasha to introduce him to pretty girls she knew but wasn’t fucking. The works. Hell. Once they’d even sent a dating resume around the bar to try and get him a girl. Bucky hated it. He was happy working. Happy adjusting to this life where there were no bullets flying. Lonely, but happy anyway. It wasn’t just that you probably weren’t his type personality-wise. He didn’t think he could take having a girl in his bed when the nightmares came out of nowhere and woke him up screaming. He didn’t want the pity and the trying to make it work for a hot minute before giving him the let’s be friends speech. It was just better to leave you be. 

__________________________

He watches you for a few weeks. Not in a creepy way, he tells himself. Just. Nosy. He’s curious. You stay to yourself, you don’t really have a ton of people in or out. And from what you leave the house in sometimes, you seem to work long shifts in some kind of medical thing. Maybe a paramedic or a nurse in a trauma ward or something. You wear dark scrubs. Maybe it helps hide blood. And prevent stains. It made sense he guessed. You only went to work three or four days a week and seemed to be off the rest of the week. You tinker on furniture and stuff in your garage and he isn’t sure what you’re doing but, as often as you bring stuff in, you load it up completely redone and take it somewhere. He figures you sell it to boutiques in the tourist trap stores downtown. 

Nothing is really amiss. You potter around doing some groundwork for what’s probably going to be raised garden beds. You start a compost pile. It confirms his assessment of “Hippie” but at the very least you seem like a socially conscious hippie. One that actually walks the walk. It isn’t until a strange car pulls up in your driveway when you aren’t home that anything looks out of the ordinary. The man that gets out of the car sets Bucky on edge. He looks pissed. The guy bangs on your door and looks through windows. He yells for you, making Steve jerk his head up. He and Bucky trade looks, silently agreeing that they should probably tell you about this as the guy gets in his car and drives away. 

By the time you get home, in the wee small hours of the morning, Bucky is waiting for you. He’s tinkering in the garage, killing time. He’d thought about waiting for you on your porch but figured coming home to a random man waiting for you in the dark would probably not be a good first impression to make. He doesn’t, contrary to what the realtor says, make a habit of scaring off neighbors. You get out of your jeep and stop for a moment, staring up at the sky like you’re looking for answers. Bucky crosses the street slowly, hands in his pockets to try and make himself smaller. He doesn’t know why. You’re half his size. But you look like your nerves are frayed. The careful efficient bun you had put your hair in the morning is a rats nest. Snarled and chaotic. You move slowly, like your joints ache or your balance is off and as he creeps closer, you smell of disinfectant. A sharp, sterile, hospital smell that doesn’t fit with you’re will o the whisp features and big eyes. “Hey,” he says, stopping a good distance away to avoid startling you. “Hey,” you say guardedly, turning slowly. Bucky clears his throat, “Bucky, I’m the big scary biker the realtor warned you about,” he says offering a hand. You smile a little, looking tired “Y/N,” you say, offering him a hand in return. 

Your hands are clean. Your nails are short and pristine. The skin is dry and cracked from constant washing and sanitizing. The difference between your hands and his own startle him for a minute. Your hands don’t fit you either.

He half smiled, “Look. I don’t wanna be nosy of anything but there was a guy nosing around earlier. He seemed pretty pissed.” Bucky watches several emotions flit across your face until finally your head falls forward and your pinch the bridge of your nose. Feeling defeated. “Thanks for the heads up,” you tell him, standing up straight again. “I’ll get it taken care of,” you tell him, “I’m sorry if it disturbed you. Have a good night.” You turn to go and Bucky catches your arm gently, “Y/N?” he said, “Is there anything I can do? I mean… I’ll scare the hell out of a guy for some beer and a pizza.” You snort but shake your head, “It’s my ex-husband,” you tell him, “I guess moving halfway across the country wasn’t far enough.” Bucky lets go of your arm, nodding, “That’s rough. I’m sorry.” You sigh, “It’s fine. I knew he’d find me eventually… He never did like the idea of someone else playing with his toys. I’ll go talk to the cops tomorrow. Get them to do some drive-bys and take them a copy of all the court orders. You won’t have to listen to that again. I’m sorry.” 

You turn and go back into the house and Bucky watches you go feeling about 3 feet tall. You had clearly had a bad day. There was blood on your shoes and you looked wrecked. He watched you take your shoes off in the garage and then turned to go into the house. He turned and to go back across the street. He could see the defeated look on your face even as he sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. It bothered him. You were obviously sweet but he hadn’t realized you were brave. He figured you kept to yourself because of your work hours. Not because you were hiding. Or feeling vulnerable on your own without much of a support network. He wondered about your family. If they knew where you were or if you had anyone to care that you were gone. That worried him. It wouldn’t take long for this guy to get violent. Bucky was willing to bet that he’d put his hands on you before and that made his stomach turn. No one deserved that. 

Bucky didn’t doubt that the cops were good guys. That they’d do their best. But, he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. He’d talk to his crew tomorrow and have them keep tabs on you. Keep an eye on things and not so gently discourage him from coming around. He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but it was. There was something about the defeat on your face that broke his heart. He knew that look. He saw it in the mirror all the time. 

________

“I’m telling you, Nat,” he said handing the redhead a beer, “He’s been here every day this week. Y/N doesn’t even come home. She’s been picking up shifts at the hospital left, right, and center. Just to avoid her own house.” The woman quirked an eyebrow, “And how exactly, James Buchanan Barnes, do you know that?” Bucky blushed and looked away, “I might check on her a couple nights a week when she gets home.” Nat smiled a little and swallowed the sip of her beer, “And what did you find out?”

Bucky shrugs, “It’s a story we’ve all heard. Sweet girl with a shit home life married the first scumball that was nice to her. She got pregnant, he didn’t want her to be and put her in ICU. After that he fucked around on her and took potshots at her from time to time. Once he started bringing girls to their house, she had enough and took a job over here. Left in the middle of the night and until she moved in here she was living out of hotels.” Nat shook her head, “Christ,” she said, “Poor kid.” Bucky snorted, “She’s not that much younger than us. She’s in her mid 20′s. She’s just baby faced.” Nat nodded, “So what does she do exactly?” Bucky stretched, “She’s a nurse in a level one ER… Explains all the scrubs. I figured it was something like that.” Nat sighed, “So pretty, smart, sweet girl, married an asshole and now you have white knight syndrome. Got it.” Bucky frowned, “I do not,” he said. “Yes you do,” Sam said strolling into the garage from the house. “ Bucky turned and mimed throwing a wrench at his friend, “Do you even know what we’re talking about?”

“No,” Sam snorted, “I just know Nat is probably right about whatever she said.” Nat snorted, “Bucky has white Knight syndrome. He loves him a damsel in distress.” Sam laughs, “Oh christ. Yeah, he does.” Bucky blushed and coughed, “I fucking don’t,” he said. He can’t look at either of them as you lope up the drive with a six-pack in your hand. You’re dressed in a hoodie, trying to stay warm in the chill outside. “Hey,” you say, hovering awkwardly just outside, “Saw this at the store. You didn’t seem like pumpkin spice flavored beer kinda guy but… I’ve heard this is pretty popular locally.” You hold out the six-pack with a wry smile. Bucky takes it and smiles a little, “Thanks,” he said, “Is this a bribe?” 

You snort, “More of a thank you. I appreciate the help getting that dresser out of the back of my jeep.” Bucky chuckled at the memory, “If it hadn’t been twice your size you would have had it.” You’d been pretty close but Bucky had been a little afraid that you were about to drop it on yourself.

“Girl,” Sam said, “I know your house isn’t that big. What do you do with all the furniture you buy?” You grin, “I sell it to bitchy wine moms after I make it look bougie and expensive. The dresser I made into a changing table and I’ve got a piece of shit changing table that I’m making into a bar cart.” Sam whistled, “That’s a nice little racket.” You nod, “Works better out here than it does at home.” You yawn, “I better get back, I got super on the stove and I think the insurance company would get suspicious if my house burned down.” You turn and go, leaving Bucky to face the teasing from his friends alone. He can’t help it. He watches you go wishing he would have been a little smoother. Wishing he would have offered you a drink and asked you to stay for a minute. 

“Damn,” Sam murmured to Natasha, “She’s got him fucked up.” The redhead nodded, “Yup… Wanna put money on it?”


	2. Chapter 2

When Bucky opens his eyes the next morning, he has an urge to get breakfast. He loves breakfast. Greasy diners always feel like a weird sort of home. The food was the same. The gravy and toast were the same no matter where he went. It didn’t matter the time of day, the neighborhood, or the state. 

He needs his quota of grease and syrup met. His stomach growls in agreement and he pulls himself upright and picks up his phone. 

Hey!, he texts you, glad that he coaxed you into trading numbers with him.

Good morning, you answer.

Bucky knows he could ask Sam and Steve. Or Barton and his family. Or Nat. Or Tony. He could ask any of them but in the back of his mind, he knows what he wants. He wants breakfast with a girl. Arguably, Natasha is very much a girl. But Natasha could kill him. With a spoon. He wanted to have breakfast with someone soft. If anyone he knew fit that description, you did. 

Do you like breakfast food?

uh… sometimes?

Well is today one of those times?

possibly

Possibly?

depends on why you’re asking.

I wanna know if you want to get something to eat with me. Dork.

Oh. Then yeah. I’ll put on pants.

Bucky chuckled to himself and hauled himself out of bed to find jeans and a reasonably clean shirt that didn’t have a grease stain on it. It might not be a real date but if you were putting on pants the least he could do was put on a decent shirt. He threw his jacket on and headed out the door to go across the street. He knocked on the door and waited. 

There were some soft thuds and muffled cursing before the door swung open. You stood there, poised with one foot behind the other and your hair still down, a riot of curls that fall over your back and shoulders like a cape. “Hey,” you say breathlessly, “Gimme just a second. Come in out of the cold,” you say, opening the door for him. He chuckles and lets himself in, sprawling comfortably on the couch to wait. You’re about half-dressed a sports bra and joggers. He watches as you go back to the bedroom and close the door to finish getting dressed properly. Bucky doesn’t have long to wait for you really. When you come back a few minutes later, dressed in joggers and a hoodie with your hair up, he smiles, “Finally,” he teases, “God, couldn’t decide which sweats to wear?” When your cheeks color and you look away he feels like an asshole. What was teasing to him probably didn’t sound that way to you. Not coming from a man. He stands slowly and crosses the floor to grip your shoulders gently, “Y/N,” he said gently, “It’s okay. Sweats are fine. Be comfortable. It’s just breakfast at a greasy diner.” It takes a moment but you nod and Bucky hugs you. It’s not the first time he wanted to hug you but it’s the first time you’ve been in arms reach. 

He hugs you and you hug him back, resting your head on his chest. Your arms slid inside his jacket easily to wrap around him and Bucky feels himself blush. He’s missed that feeling. A pretty girl snuggling close. He lets his cheek rest against your head for just a moment before you pull away and reach for your purse. “Okay,” you say softly. “You ready?” he says. You nod, “Am I driving? Pretty sure it’s a little too cold for a motorcycle.” Bucky snorted, “Whimp.” You nod, “That too, yes.” 

You pick up your car keys and Bucky chuckles, “One day, we will get you on a motorcycle.” You shake your head, “No. No, you will not. Watched too many guys die in my ER after they wreck their whole self tryna be Billy Badass without a helmet on.” Bucky felt his nose wrinkle, “Ew,” he said reflectively. “Yeah. Roadrash isn’t fucking pretty. Especially not when I can see your skull.” Bucky gagged and opened the door to the passenger side, “Fuck you,” he said, “Now I can’t not see that.”

“Whimp,” you shoot back mildly. 

Bucky rolls his eyes but chuckles as he buckles his seatbelt. He could see your point. Stuff like that probably did stick in your head. “Okay,” you say, “Where am I headed?” Bucky pointed you down the street, happy to direct you to his favorite spot. In the parking lot, you found a nice little spot and Bucky walked around the car to open your door for you. You smiled a little and let him help you down. “Thank you,” you say, grabbing your bag. He grunts. He’s not sure why he’s embarrassed. But he is. He opens the door to the diner for you and lets you slide into a booth. He’s happy you’re a booth person. The tables are stupid. He doesn’t trust table people. 

He also respects that you don’t even need to look at the menu before deciding that you want Biscuits and Gravy, hashbrows, and coffee. A creature of habit. One that can trust their favorites to be consistent and uses them as a metric to decide whether or not a place is worthy of your continued business. That makes him smile a little. He has a similar policy with pancakes. If a diner can’t do pancakes he’s a little hesitant to go back. There isn’t much talking. You’re both enjoying the quiet company of another person while you scroll through your social media feeds. It’s nice. 

Just having a person nearby that can understand and respect comfortable, companionable silence while they sip coffee. You take yours black. Black as night and sip it without needing to add ice. Bucky makes his as light and sweet as possible before adding ice from his glass of water. Steve and Sam both ride his ass for it. They drink their coffee black. A holdover from the army. But now that Bucky doesn’t have to drink it that way, he doesn’t. He hated it black before the army. He hated it black in the army. And now that he’s out, he’ll never drink it that way again if he can avoid it. He wonders if you like it black or if you drink it that way out of habit. Probably a bit of both. Being a nurse on a long shift probably necessitates black coffee. He’s never done it but he’s seen the aftermath. The 1,000-yard stare and your brain is so done that it’s a struggle to get keys in a lock to get into your house. 

When the waitress sets down plates you thank her prettily and smile. Bucky’s known Gracie for years and never once has the grey-haired steel spined woman smiled. At anyone. But she smiles at you. “You’re welcome baby,” she said, “You need anything else?” You smile, “No, I’m good. Thank you.” Bucky looks up at Gracie, “You goin’ soft on me Gracie?” The woman looks back at him and quirks her eyebrow, “You got a problem, Barnes?” He grins and takes a sip of his coffee, “No, ma’am.” She bustles off and he settles into his pancakes, happily coating them in syrup and butter until they’re drowning. He has a sweet tooth. A big one. You glance at his plate and smile over your coffee cup, “You want some pancakes with your syrup?” you ask. “Shut up, they’re good like this,” he said defensively. “If you’re five,” you tease fondly. “I’m gonna let that go because you worked some witchery on Gracie just now,” he said.

You quirk an eyebrow, confused. “She smiled at you,” he clarified, “5 fucking years I been coming in here for chow and not once has that old battle-ax smiled back at me.” You snort, “I speak diner girl pretty well. I’m a third-generation waitress and a 4th generation bartender… it’s how I paid my way through College and kept Rick in law school. I used to work nights at the bar in town and days at the county hospital.” Bucky smiled a little, “I bet you were mouthy.” You shake your head and Gracie refills your coffee, “Were? Hell. I bet she still has the mouth.” You nod, “Gets me in trouble at the hospital sometimes but… I’m too good at finding veins and doing stitches for them to get rid of me.” Gracie snorts and refills Bucky’s coffee, “You be nice to her, hear me? Don’t be bringing no other bimbos in here. I like her and I like the redhead. You boys better not chase ‘em off.” Bucky gives her a mocking salute and a grin, “No ma’am. We’re keeping ‘em.”

You blush and it makes Bucky happy in a way he can’t quite put words to. They all liked you. Hell. Sam had done your last oil change and Steve had helped you take a desk upstate for delivery with his pick up for a pint and grilled cheese. Natasha was a little more guarded around you but she really liked it when you dropped by the garage for a minute after you got cleaned up after work. Said you reminded her that not all women shilled nail polish and diet pills. You’d never been on a motorcycle and knew nothing about engines but it was fine. You were cute and funny and it wasn’t uncommon for you to bring them food. Cupcakes, chili, enchiladas, anything you had leftover after you parceled up whatever you needed for the week. They knew it was how you showed appreciation. How you showed affection. It was wholesome, having you turn up with a plate of pretty cookies and a shy smile. It was like being fed by the stray and somehow it worked. 

Bucky wouldn’t let you pay for breakfast. He told you anyone that earned Gracie’s stamp of approval earned a meal on him. You rolled your eyes but smiled, blushing a little. He opened your car door for you and swung himself easily into the passenger seat. It was a good morning. And for the first time in a long time, the nagging loneliness in the back of his mind was blessedly quiet.


	3. Chapter 3

Early snow is flying and Bucky’s hands are freezing in the garage. It’s colder than a well digger’s ass outside and even with his gloves on, it’s too cold to work properly. Not for the first time, he wishes they would have invested earlier in getting a bigger Garage built where they could work. One that was made to be heated. 

It’s early in the morning and he’s half waiting for you. Trying to make sure you get into the house okay. Rick has been around again. Not stopping at the house but cruising through the neighborhood. Often enough that even Sam and Steve agree that he’s about to do something stupid. Bucky didn’t like it. He knew that even if you didn’t say, you were afraid to come home. You’d been working your fingers to the bone just to avoid your own house. 

When your jeep pulls in, he breathes a sigh of relief. He was comforted knowing you weren’t trying to sleep in a breakroom between shifts today. You looked so tired anytime he came to check on you. Stressed to your breaking point. Tears just one wrong word from spilling down your cheeks. When you trudge into the house after taking your shoes off at the door, he sighs. 

He sits staring at the engine he’s tinkering with for a moment. He wants to go across the street and check on things. Check on you. There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach like ice water swirling in its depths. Something that makes the hair on the back of his neck stands up. He’s about to call Steve when he hears a scream. It’s terrified and primal and it makes his heart drop even as he bolts to his feet ready to run.

You bolt around the corner of the house, feet bare despite the cold. Soft cloth shorts and a tank top the only clothing on your body. Rick is on your heels. His boots a major advantage on the cold, frost hardened ground.

Buck clears the distance between you as Rick grabs a handful of your hair, jerking you backward to throw you on the ground. He hears rather than sees the fist connect with the side of your head and his boot hit your midsection. He can’t hear anything but the blood pounding in his ears as he throws the other man away from you and puts himself in the way. He’s furious. And menacing. The giant puppy of a man who gives Neighborhood kids popsicles in the summer when they stop by the garage and hot chocolate when it’s cold and they’re waiting for the bus, looks like he could kill someone. Rick goes to push Bucky out of the way to get to you as you get slowly to your feet, shaking and struggling to breathe. Bucky didn’t think. He punched. Rapidly driving him backward and further away from you. 

“Oh, Shit,” Sam said jumping out of the passenger side of Steve’s truck and bolting across the street to stop Bucky from getting a manslaughter charge. Steve called the cops and bolted across the grass, already taking his jacket off to wrap around you. 

Sam shoves Bucky towards you, “Go,” he said, “Get her inside. She’s in shock and half-naked. Cops are on their way.” Bucky looked to where Steve was trying to get you back off the ground. You’re dazed and bleeding. Your shirt is half torn off and Steve’s jacket is the only thing making you decent to be outside. His heart twists unpleasantly and Sam shoves a little harder, “Go,” he said firmly. He nods and makes his way across the grass, kneeling in front of you slowly, “Hey, Sugar,” he said softly, tilting your chin up to look at him, “let’s get you inside, okay?” When you can’t meet his eyes, his heart hurts. There are four very large men and a lot of testosterone in this yard. “Baby,” he soothes, “it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you. I’m gonna carry you inside okay? Your feet are pretty cut up.” He talks to you softly, like he’s coaxing a scared dog out of hiding. Careful touches and soft words until he gets you to put your arms around his neck so he can carry you. “Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your head. 

Inside, he stays quiet. Swapping Steve’s jacket for the thick quilt off his bed. Something to cover your whole body. He gives you a cup of hot cider and gets a warm washcloth. One he can use to get the dirt off your face so the cops can see the bruises already forming. He can hear the yelling outside and watched the tension in your body ratchet back up when Rick starts screaming your name. “Shhh,” Bucky soothes, “You’re safe, doll.” When you start to cry, he takes the mug out of your hands gently and puts you in his lap, quilt and all. “Baby,” he murmurs, “It’ll be okay. The cops are gonna take him.” 

Steve leads said cops into the house to get statements and so the cops can get pictures of your injuries. If the cops think anything about your current state or your being on Bucky’s lap crying, there’s no sign. You direct them to your back patio door. It had been shattered. Your feet had gotten cut up bolting through the gap to get away from him when he jumped you as you walked out of your laundry room. The cops get Bucky’s statement, that he saw you running around the corner of the house after he heard you scream. That he’d half beaten Rick to a pulp to get him off of you before he caved your ribs in with his boots. The cops thank him for his time. And his service. Then go to get pictures of the inside of your house, as an official crime scene. When Paramedics arrive, they clean the glass and dirt out of the cuts on your feet and stitch and bandage them. They also stitch up your lip. It feels like it all takes forever and all you want to do is sleep.

You’d spent so much money and invested so much time in protecting yourself. Doing what you were told would keep you safe. And you hadn’t been. Rick had still found you and still tried to beat you to death. You couldn’t think. Everything felt foggy and it sounded like it was coming from underwater.

“Doll,” Bucky said softly, holding out some sweats and a t-shirt, “They’ll be a little big, but warmer than what you have on right now.” You nod and he puts them the bed before coming back to scoop you up gently and carry you. You lean into him and he hugs you tightly. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here, baby,” he says softly, “What do you need?” You shake your head, “I’m just... I mean. I can go home as soon as the window’s boarded up. It’s okay.” 

Your voice is flat. It’s monotone. There’s no inflection. It hurts. He sets you down gently and kneels in front of you. “It isn’t okay,” he said. “He found me once. He’ll do it again. No one can stop him. It doesn’t matter. His parents will pay his bail. He’ll be out tomorrow and he’ll kill me. Nowhere is safe. It doesn’t matter where I go,” you tell him. “He won’t get you here,” he said firmly, “I stopped him once and I’ll do it again. And again. You’re going to be safe. I promise.” 

His lips, when they press into yours are gentle. Careful of your new stitches. He’s warm and sweet and you melt into him, tears starting to fall down your cheeks again. He keeps his touch light. So engrossed in you, he doesn’t hear Steve in the doorway doing an abrupt about-face. He isn’t sure who started the kissing but your top is torn off and he knows you probably don’t want everyone seeing your breast. 

He lopes into the kitchen, trying not to listen to Bucky quietly trying to tell you he loves you without saying the words. He hears the soft rustle of fabric and footsteps as his friend carries you to another room to put on different clothes. When Bucky walks back into the kitchen, blushing and Steve hands him a beer. “Sam’s got the window boarded up, now. Clint brought a big enough sheet of plywood. I got the glass off the floor... Tell her to be careful when she empties out her shop vac,” he said. Bucky nodded, “I’m gonna have her stay here,” he said, “I don’t want her going over there alone. Not right now.” Steve nodded, “Probably a good idea. She was pretty fucked up.”

“Shock will do that,” you say from the kitchen door, making them both jump. You’ve had to roll up the Cuffs of Bucky’s sweats a few times and the sleeves.”Do you have a coke or something? That second wave always swings around really fast. I should probably put some sugar and some fluids into my system before it does.” Steve nods and hands you a coke quickly. “You hungry?” Steve asks. You shake your head, “If I actually eat I’ll probably be very sick... Thank you for lending me your jacket.” The blonde nods and kisses the side of your head, giving you a squeeze, “Figure you wouldn’t want neighborhood kids to know what your boobs look like.” You snort, “That’s fair.” Steve grins and lets himself out, punching Bucky on the arm on the way. 

Bucky helped you into a chair gently and sat in one next to you, “What do you need me to do?” he asked in the quiet. “Can we just watch a movie? I don’t want to think anymore.” Bucky smiled a little, “Yeah, Sugar. We can do that.”

____

So wait?” Sam asked swinging himself into the truck, “Who kissed who?” Steve shrugged, “Whoever started it, they were both into it.” Sam smirked, “Nice... Nat owes me some money.” The blonde snorted, “Extenuating circumstances Sam. She’s not gonna pay you until it happens when she’s not in shock.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky isn’t sure when you wound up on his chest, your fingers tangled in his shirt and your head on his heart. Somewhere between his 4th beer and the 2nd movie. When the shock wore off and the depression and exhaustion crept in.

He does know, as he holds you there, that he doesn’t mind in the least. If you’re against his chest, you’re safe. You’re comfortable. You’re warm snuggled into his sweats and the quilt from his bed. He adjusts you carefully, shifting your weight just slightly so his erection wouldn’t be stabbing against you. It was a reaction to being this… intimate with someone. Something he’d not had in a long time but. Given everything that had happened that morning, sex was the furthest thing from his mind. He just kept seeing you running around the corner of the house. Barefoot and half-naked. Your shirt had been half torn off in the struggle inside and your shorts were the ones you slept it. 

You’d come home from a long stretch at work. Tired. Hungry. All you wanted was some food and a night of good sleep. It had probably been easy for Rick to catch you off guard. You’d told the police you were changing in the laundry room. Scrubs come off and go in the wash and the first pajamas you grab go on before you walk into the house. He can picture it from what you told the police. He can still see the way your head snapped back when he grabbed your hair. The hair he had his fingers carding through to keep you asleep. 

He hates that that man is already, as you predicted, out on bail. He holds you a little tighter and kisses your head. He promised to keep you safe. He promised you’d be happy. He wanted that for you. He didn’t want to wake you. He didn’t want to tell you he was out. He wanted you to have just a little more sleep. Some more time to let yourself adjust to this new reality. One where your home wasn’t safe anymore. 

The sudden banging on the door isn’t going to let that happen though. You jerk upright and scramble off of Bucky as quickly as you can without hurting him. Every nerve in your body alert. “Stay here, doll,” he says softly, getting up slowly. He pads his way to the door and unbolts it carefully ready for a fight. What he finds is a pair of not quite elderly folks. The man has snow-white hair and his arm around the woman’s shoulders. The woman is wringing her hands and trying to peer around Bucky. “Can I help you?” he asks carefully. “Oh dear, is Y/N here?” the woman asks, “Rick said she would be.” Bucky opens his mouth to tell them no when he feels your hand on his, “Nora,” you say softly, “You and Bobby shouldn’t be here.” The man chuckles, “You know Nora. There was no keeping her away.” You shake your head, “I’m not taking Rick back. Not this time. Not ever again. I love you both dearly but… I can’t go back to that life.” Nora pulls you into a hug, “I know that, dear,” she said. Bobby sighed, “We tried to keep him in jail. It’s a disgrace what he keeps doing but… You know Rick. Low friends in high places all over the place.” You nod and sigh, “It’s how he got off the manslaughter charge the first time. And how He got out of paying all the medical bills.” 

Nora brushes hair out of your eyes and smiles sadly, “We didn’t raise our boy to be this way,” she said softly. “I know,” you tell her. Bobby cleared his throat, uncomfortable. Bucky can see he’s a good man. The kind that cares but doesn’t show it very well. The only thing that’s keeping him from throwing them off his porch is that they seemed to have decided to side with you in all this. A rare occurrence, but one he’s thankful for. “Listen, Girlie. You’re still the best damn Bronc Buster that I’ve ever seen,” he said, making you snort. “I’m serious. A damn fine horsewoman… Best decision I ever made hiring you out. You coulda gone to the Olympics if you hadn’t had that accident.” You open your mouth to protest and he holds up a hand, “I know damn well we can’t make up for all the hell that boy caused you. But I can do this.” He pulls an envelope out of his jacket and hands it to you, “In there is everything you need. I picked out a real pretty Arabian. Fast as anything. Good blood. You can pick your own tack. We’ll pay to put her up. It’d be a tragedy for you to get all city-fied and lose that talent. All you gotta do is show them the paperwork and give her a name. You can go ride as often as you want… if you ever wind up Back in Montana, well shit. We’ll move her with you.” You tear up, momentarily overwhelmed and he pulls you into a hug, brushing a kiss over the top of your head, “Don’t you cry on me now. Because you’re gonna cry, then Nora’s gonna cry, and we’re gonna miss our flight. And I ain’t haul my old ass all the way out here to listen to no crying. I was too late to grab Rick before he got stupid, but I can do this. So don’t you worry, Girlie… This ain’t no loan either. It’s preserving a goddamn national asset. You got the best head for riding I ever seen. We can’t have you losin’ it.” 

They don’t stay much longer after that. Long enough for you to promise to send them pictures of your garden when it comes in and not to be a stranger if you’re ever in town. They drive away and Bucky puts an arm around your waist, “Y/N, what the fuck?” 

You smile a little, “Nora and Bobby run a cattle ranch. A damn good one. I used to work for them in the summertime. S’how I got the money for my tack and to feed my horse… and how I met Rick. He’s a couple years older than me. We started dating when I was 17. Right before the car wreck where my momma died. Before i was gonna go try and qualify for a spot on the US team.” Bucky kisses the side of your head, “So. Their son beat the living hell out of you and what? They buy you a horse?” You smile a little, “And knowing Bobby they’ve got a guy headed over to fix the glass and install a security system for me… When Rick. I mean. That first time. When I pressed charges after. After he beat me until…” You trail off and Bucky doesn’t press. He knows what you’re talking about. He gives you a second to get your composure and kisses your shoulder softly. “Nora brought me the divorce papers while I was still in the hospital… They decided to keep me, I guess after it all came out what he’d done.” Bucky nodded slowly. He can’t imagine doing those things to a woman. Any woman. Let alone one he was married to. Supposed to be in love with. The one he wanted to have a passle of kids with.

Bucky held you gently for a moment, “I didn’t even know you rode horses,” he said softly, “got any other hidden talents?” You smile a little, “I’m a damn good shot with a rifle and I’m good with rope,” you answer. Bucky raises his eyebrows, “Got a whole Cowgirl next door… And here I thought you were just a random hippie.” You snort, “Careful. I’ll hogtie you to the bed and leave you for your boys to find.” He chuckles, “You gotta at least take me for a nice dinner, first doll. I’m not that kind of guy… My mama raised a gentleman. I’m not just some whore.” You giggle and he hugs you close for a second, “On that note, Doll,” he said, “Let’s get you fed. You probably didn’t get a chance to eat, did you?” You shake your head. “My wallet is in my glove box if you want my card to pay for something,” you tell him. He shakes his head, “You’re alright. I was just gonna order a shit load of Chinese.” You smile a little and nod, “I forgot, this is y’all’s Club night, isn’t it?” Bucky nods, “When they get here, we’re gonna have a chat about having someone escort you to work. At least until the cops do their fucking job.” You blush and shake your head, “I appreciate it but…”

Bucky grips your shoulders gently and kisses you quiet. “Sugar,” he says, “The scariest moment of my life was hearing you scream. I went to war. I got shot at daily. None of that ever scared me the way that did. I have never wanted to kill a man as much as I wanted to when I saw that piece of shit chasing you through the yard… If Sam and Steve hadn’t got here when they did, baby, I’d be in jail.” He kisses you again softly and smiles, “I made you a promise, Sugar. And I ain’t likely to break it.”

He kisses you again and for a moment, there’s no talking. He wants to tell you he loves you. To ask you to marry him. To ask you about baby names. But the feel of your arms slipping around him and your tongue against his chase all that out of his mind. All there is, is this.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky watched you race by on your horse. He leaned on the fence and smiled a little. Your hair had come down and was flying behind you like a banner. You looked fierce. All wild curls and focus as you went through the paces. 

He didn’t know anything about horses. But he did know you. He knew your face. The stress and tension that lay just below the surface. Waiting to ambush you. He knew the wince when a door shut too loudly and the way you glanced towards the door when someone raised their voice. He knew that as you raced by, you looked free. 

He felt his heart flutter when you stopped and patted the horse’s neck. “Good girl,” you praise, “Pretty and smart. Bobby always did have an eye for smart girls.” The horse nickers softly and stomps her foot, impatient to be off again. “We’re gonna get along fine, baby,” you say smiling, swinging your leg over to stand next to her and stroke her nose. “C’mon, Moonshine,” you coax gently, “let’s introduce you to a friend of mine.” She follows where you lead, plodding along as you take her to meet Bucky.

The Biker looks a little overwhelmed by how big the horse is up close. He reaches out tentatively and you smile, “Scratch right there,” you tell him, indicating a spot between her ears, “She likes that.” He does, gently. Moonshine shivers and leans into the touch, butting against his hand when he stops. “What did you name her?” he asked, admiring her silvery-white hide. “Moonshine,” you say smiling, patting her neck, “She’s a clever girl.” Bucky smiled, “Moonshine?”

You nod, “It’s a tradition… My first pony my dad named Whiskey… My horse that. That died when the trailer overturned was named Absinthe. My momma had a horse named Tequila.” You smile a little and kiss her nose as she takes half an apple from your hand, “We’ll get along fine, won’t we baby?” you tell her. Bucky felt better, watching the look on your face. The calm. 

He wondered how long it would last. How long it had been since you’d just been around horses. He couldn’t imagine not being around bikes. It was soothing. Knowing the ins and outs. He could imagine you felt the same way. “Sometimes I miss Montana. The farm and stuff,” you say softly. Bucky brushes hair out of your eyes gently, “How long have you been away?” he asked. “Almost two years,” you answer, “After everything… The divorce and all the drama, I sold the farm. I just… I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t take care of the horses. I just. I was dead. I was breathing but I was dead.”

Bucky moved closer to you and put an arm around you, “And now?” he asked softly. You sigh, “Better. A little better all the time.” The brunette smiled and kissed your head, “Good,” he murmured. He was glad that he had asked you about taking it slow. He liked the soft goodnight kisses and naps on the sofa. The sweetness and innocence of your eyes when he brought you icecream when he met you for your dinner break at work. You might have married your high school sweetheart, but there’d not been much sweetness in that relationship. Just enough to keep you stuck. Keep you a pretty little wife. Someone that he could trot out for parties to schmooze with his business friends. A cute little nurse. An oddity. A wife who worked. Who enjoyed working. 

Your getting pregnant had ruined the optics. Taken the focus off of him. Distracted you from doting on him like he liked. Ruined the body he figured he’d bought and paid for. 

The more Bucky learned. The more he heard about. The more ready he was to murder Rick if he ever saw him again. Bucky was happy to dote on you. Show you what it was supposed to feel like being with someone. 

He walked with you to the stable, watching fondly as you put away tack and brushed your horse with practiced hands. “Y/N?” he asked after a long moment. “Yeah?” you answer. “Let’s go on vacation,” he said, “Hell. We’ll all go. I’ll get a trailer for Moonshine and we can find a campground with some cabins and trails and stuff.” You look up at him and he melts. Your eyes are glowing and you look like he just gave you the world. “You mean it?” you ask, clasping your hands. “Yeah, Doll,” he says, kissing your nose, “I’ll call the guys. We’ll make it a party. We usually do one big camping trip every year.” You smile and throw your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. “Thank you,” you tell him, nuzzling his neck. 

“Anything for you, Sugar,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. You smell like cold and a little like horses, wood shavings and hay. It suits you in a way he hadn’t realized it would. It smells warm and healthy. Clean. Safe. It clashes with the smell of oil and metal that clings to him. Discordant smells that don’t clash but mingle in strange harmony. He holds you to him for a moment and just soaks it in. You hadn’t told him you loved him. Not yet. But he felt it. 

It radiated from you. A feeling that lingered with him even after he had gone back to his own house across the street. It wrapped around him and lingered like the smell of your perfume. He loved you too, even if he hadn’t said it.

He knew the feel of your hands cradling his face the way he knew the feel of his leather jacket. He knew your tones of voice the way he knew the purr of different kinds of engines. It scared him, how much he loved you. It scared him and thrilled him and left him breathless and dizzy. The thoughts of you as he lay in bed at night kept him pleasantly awake even as he ached to be close to you. Even as he ached to make love to you and feel you tremble around him. 

When you start to pull away, he lets you go. Admiring your quiet confidence. Rick’s sentencing hearing had netted you 10 years of freedom. Time to heal and grow into the person you were meant to be. The person he tried to keep you from being. You’re different in subtle ways he can’t really define but he loves it. He’s thrilled with your smart mouth and quick wits. He loves it when you throw drinks for them at parties when you cook for them and throwback all the shit they give you. 

As you leave the stable, saying the last fond so long to Moonshine as he throws his jacket around your shoulders against the chill of the wind. The air is crisp and sweet, whipping color into your cheeks. Prime camping weather, he decides. A good chance to snuggle up at night in the cabin, close together for warmth. Romantic, he decides, even with a small crowd of bikers. He likes that. You deserve that.


End file.
